Black Coffee
by AzureShadowMoon
Summary: As tasteless and soulless as possible, but with her, he can tolerate it. AU


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Simon doesn't like coffee.

He rarely drinks tea, but tolerates it because he's a bit of a health nut. Water is the choice that usually sits with him through meals, and if he's feeling down about Ashley he'll grab a beer. He won't drink it, he'll pour it on his lawn and fill it with soda. But coffee? Coffee is tasteless when hot and dry when cold. It's a strong flavor that doesn't quench thirst but feels like ash in his stomach. But if he has no choice, he'll drink coffee.

Black coffee. As tasteless and soulless as possible.

"You . . ." He finds his voice in the tiny café as the waiter gives him an expectant look, "You have anything, uh, like water?"

"We do." The waiter confirmed, pen ready over his notepad. "Would you like that?"

"No." Simon admits solemnly, "Do you have tea?"

"Sorry, we don't."

He wilts quietly, "Coffee. Black. Please."

The waiter takes his order and leaves the booth. Simon stews in his seat, feeling the creeping chill of a bad day. The window next to his booth is being pelted by rain, with the soft rumble of a storm in the distance. He slouches with a world weary sigh, his head heavy with sleep. It's one of those days.

"Did you hear?" He hears loud movement from the booth behind him. "There's a comet going to hit us in a hundred years."

"Don't say something so spooky." Someone scolds. "It'll miss us, for sure."

"I don't know, Alice." The voice from before laughs. "They say it'll wipe out all life on earth."

"Brandon! That's mean . . ."

Their conversation fades out and Simon finds himself mulling over the news. While superstitions are thrown around and premonitions are feared, he felt himself want to believe in a comet. Not in a hundred years. But in a hundred seconds. He could imagine a red flash, with blinding white hot light. It'd be quiet, because he doesn't want to hear screaming. But he wants silence as the fire consumes all and it all goes black.

He closes his eyes. The car accident was messing with his head again.

"Hey, fella."

He flinches, not expecting a voice so soon, and looks up. He's surprised it isn't the waiter, but a waitress with his coffee. She has short hair, dark and trimmed in a way that she has a long fringe on the side of her face. She also has wide, curious blue eyes.

"Hello." He chokes out.

"Coffee, black?" She smiles charmingly as she places it in front of him. "You don't look like a coffee person."

"I'm not." He admits, cringing slightly as he smells the drink.

"Really?" She tucks her tray under her arm and looks at him, "Then what are you doing here on such a washed up day?"

"You're pretty straightforward." He jokes, but says, "Just thinking about things that can't be changed."

"Huh?" She tilts her head. "That seems fitting for a day like this."

He smirks. It is a really shitty day. He reached for his cup but jumps when she slides into the seat across from him. He blinks in confusion.

"Uh, sorry." He withdraws his hand. "Don't you have other customers?"

"Johann can handle them." She waves off, "I'm Catherine, by the way."

He bites his lip, "Simon. I'm Simon."

"Simon." She tests, like it's a weird word she's never heard before, "Well Simon, would you like something else to go with that coffee?"

He'd briefly glanced at the menu before and found only sandwiches and salads. He didn't feel like he could stomach food though. Drinking coffee seemed like the lesser of the two evils.

"Not really." He took a tentative sip and grimaced.

Catherine was making a face at him. "I don't think I'll ever understand you."

"Thanks?" He didn't particularly care, "I won't come back here, anyway."

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

"Well." She cleared her throat. "If you ever want to, water is free."

He tossed her a dry look that she looked too smug at, "C'mon, there has to be something good about today."

"No, I don't think so." He winced, feeling the same day a year ago echo in his head. "Today is just . . . one of those days."

"One of those days, huh." She looked out the window, and Simon had the insane urge to draw her. The distant and hopeful look in her eyes, the green café uniform and the tray she'd set down on the table. He was terrible at art, so it didn't make much sense. He thinks.

"You know," She began, "I think days like these are better then sunny days."

"I don't follow."

"Well," She leans forward like she has a secret, "If it's raining and terrible, it just fits the mood. If it's sunny and terrible, doesn't that just make it worse?"

"Yeah." He admits, sort of grasping what she was saying. "You're a strange waitress. Do you always have heart to heart chats with your customers?"

She smiles, "Only the ones that order black coffee."

"Heh. Funny." He doesn't feel in the mood for coffee anymore and pushes it aside. Catherine doesn't seem to mind.

"Well, ma'am, I think it's better I stop taking up space . . ." He starts.

But Catherine shakes her head, "It's Wednesday. We're pretty dead, so you don't have to get up on my account."

Strangely, he doesn't feel the need to leave anymore. He remains in his seat and picks up the menu to occupy his time. Catherine finds this amusing.

"Find anything you like?" She asks.

"No." He looks up at her Cheshire grin. "I was wondering though, do you know a good tea place?"

"Ark Tea." She answers so quickly he blinks. "It's on Delta Street. You can't miss it."

"Oh. You know of it?"

She snorts, "I owned it, up till recently."

"What happened?"

She looks back out the window, less hopefully and with a little scorn. "Just a coworker dispute that ended badly. I got cut."

"Looks like I'm not the only one having a bad day." He jests grimly, hunching a bit.

She hums but doesn't add anything to that. He finds his eyes trailing out the window to where a couple walk by, snuggling under an umbrella. The girl laughs loudly and he winces.

"What's your reason for today?" Catherine asks.

Since she shared her part, he felt it only fair to share his. "Car accident. I was the lucky one."

"Oh." She blinks at him. "Now I feel bad. My story didn't have death in it."

"It's still a terrible day." Simon says. He gives a sigh, half annoyed he was still moping and pouting. Catherine is looking at him with a raised eyebrow before nodding.

"Here." She pulls a small piece of paper from her apron. "It's usually just me and Amanda, but if you want to pop by, no one will say no."

He looks at the paper and finds a number over an address. He frowns, "Is this therapy?"

Catherina laughs, and Simon doesn't take offense, because it's somehow different then the girl under the umbrella. "No, no. We hang out, play games, and watch movies. Like one of those lame high school sleepovers."

"Joy." He mocks, but smiles anyway.

"C'mon, it's better than drowning in black coffee." She slides out of her seat. He almost doesn't want her to leave before he realizes he's standing as well.

"We meet every Sunday." She says. "See you then?"

"Uh, yeah." He offers a grin that feels genuine. "I'll see you then."

She bids him goodbye and he waves. Outside is still raining, the rumble of weather making those still left out scrambling for shelter. He tightened his jacket around him, feeling a bit braver about the day.

The door behind him opens and he moves aside, expecting someone to be leaving. Instead, it's Catherine poking her head out. She looks momentarily confused.

"Hey, Simon."

"Yeah, Cath?"

She grins, "Just be yourself."

She disappears back behind the door, and he decides black coffee doesn't taste too bad, if he gets to sit with her. He shakes his head with a weary grin, and walks out into the storm.


End file.
